|who can resist them...?|
Mitzi is away tonight, she has gone on an overnight school trip to a nature reserve place. It’s only 20 minutes away, which is reassuring, because I am expecting a call at midnight tonight saying that ‘Madame Wood, we have 65 children who are still not asleep, various mummy volunteers and teachers who are not either. Mitzi being the culprit. She’s had a proper nasty cough which kept most of us up most of the night, and I didn’t want to send her, although she seems completely unphased by it, the teacher said she should come anyway, they would ring me at 8pm tonight to let me know, and I could always come and fetch her at worst. So I am going to be sleeping fully clothed and shoed up tonight, just in case.
The arrival of the first new chicken really got Margot’s goat up. Is that even an appropriate phrase to use when one is talking about a chicken? What would the animal equivalent be? ‘Yeah, that donkey, he really gets my human up, man.’ It’s all sounding too weird now, I am stopping this nonsense. So she hates the new girl, and tonight, flies at her, flapping wildly and over dramatically, big flappy red thing on head flip-flapping from side to side with vigour, she hurls herself on the new girl, who incidentally is called ‘Blanchette’ ‘Whitey’ (the friend who gave her to me named her). She does a full on belly flop, like some WWF fighter with red flaps and wings, nice. The new, new one is ‘Brigite’. Although the friend did warn me that as they’re young, she could be mistaken, and we would find ourselves with a big fat cock in our hands…now just for the record Facebook banners out there, I am referring to a male chicken, not a male member. It’s true you know, I was blocked for a while for ‘rude, offensive and obscene content’. I even had to contact them and explain all this ‘cock’ business to them, and that I was just a mummy trying to change the world through my blog…Seems to be working too, I hear World peace is just around the corner.
I am now off to take time to pamper my self, after mopping the floor, well, I’ll at least take the time to put some deoderant on, that counts. And then I must break the news to Alex about the duck pond (which we’ve found a frog for-no, not a random French dude squatting in our back garden, going 'ribbit ribbit' with a French accent, a real live one who lives in our garden and talks to Monty, true that, Monty’s fluent in frog) which he will be fashioning this weekend.
QUACK QUACK, RIBBIT RIBBIT! Hey, the old Mac Donald’s farm song is coming along…few more small animals to get. Alex? Alex? …*tumbleweeds* *spooky howling wind sounds*
Btw, can you help? It’s the names for our ducks, we cannot settle on them. Here’s the suggestions to date: Donald and duck, to Homer and Marge, Brad and Anjelina, to my astoundingly intelligent offering of Posh and Beaks…geddit? How funny am I?